Green Shoots In Spring
by IseultLaBelle
Summary: In the aftermath of Chloe's attack, Ange fights to keep the police at bay for as long as possible, while struggling to cope herself and trying not to show it. Follows directly on from Retreat.


**A few things you need to know before you read this one: **

**Ciorstaidh is a Scots Gaelic name, pronounced Keer-stee. (If you read my other story The Mother We Share, then yes, this is Chloe's unpronounceable Scottish middle name over there, too!)**

**Alice In Chains are a 90s rock band. And yes, their bass guitarist is nice to look at. **

**Èiginn is a Scots Gaelic word meaning crisis. **

**Selkies are mythical seal creatures in Scottish, Irish and some Scandinavian folklore, able to take on human form by shedding their seal skins. They often feature in tragic romances along the lines of The Little Mermaid. **

**Bonnie Prince Charlie, or the Young Pretender, real name Charles Edward Stuart, was the Stuart claim to the British throne from 1766. In 1745 he led his Jacobite supporters in rebellion against King George II of England, capturing Edinburgh and winning support amongst many of the clans in the Scottish highlands. Famously, he fled after suffering a devastating defeat and losing much of his Highlander army, and was smuggled to the Isle of Skye by a Highland lady named Flora MacDonald, who disguised him as one of her maids. The Scottish folk song 'Skye Boat Song' tells the story of their journey to Skye. If you do want to listen to it, you want the Heather Dale version, which is actually called Wild Mountain Thyme/Skye Boat Song. It's beautiful. **

**River City is like Scottish Eastenders. Dawn also used to be in it, so the River City mention is a slight nod to that, too! **

**All Scots Gaelic was written with the help of google translate- I only know Irish Gaelic and all of that comes from folk songs. I apologise to any native speakers for butchering your language! To everyone else, fear not, there's a glossary at the end. **

**I didn't mean to write this story. Most of it was written between 11 and 4am last night, which may explain the slightly experimental style :S That episode traumatised me and I had to do something with it. For the first 6000 words, I had no idea what I was doing, I was just writing whatever came to mind, so I apologise if it's totally awful. I do, however, now have an actual plot and I know how this would end if I finished it, so if you would like a part two please do let me know! **

**This story follows on from last night's episode, so it does contain references to rape and self-harm. **

**-IseultLaBelle x **

**Green Shoots in Spring **

Chloe hasn't moved.

She's been away long enough to make the phone call, beg and plead until the police promise a SOLO is on her way over to get Chloe away from the hospital and into a SARC as soon as possible, away from the carnage and the destruction and the devastation and the air of awful, painful uncertainty that lingers in the air like a terrible weight, suffocating them all and she needs Chloe out of here.

Chloe needs out of here.

Chloe doesn't know it, but she can't be here, not now.

Not like this.

Because this place is hers.

It's not his to claim for his own, yet another shattered fragment of the life he's stolen from her.

Chloe's going to be fine. The police are going to put it all together as it really happened, Evan is going to be held accountable, and nothing will happen to Chloe, nothing at all, because the police will understand.

They'll know.

They'll have seen this before, they'll know how it goes, know that Chloe had no choice but to defend herself.

Self-defence.

That's what it was.

It was merely self-defence, and no one can ever blame her.

Chloe mustn't blame herself.

She won't be able to blame herself, because she'll be cleared. Of course she'll be cleared, and she'll get through this, recover, and then she'll come back to work and she'll be alright.

The hospital can't become synonymous with this, with Evan, with all of it, not now, not ever, because Chloe is going to come back to work here. Of course she will.

He doesn't get to take this from her.

He doesn't get to tarnish this place with so many awful memories that she can't face returning here ever again.

She has to get Chloe out of here.

Chloe.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

She swore to herself all those years ago that it would never, ever be like this.

Not for Chloe.

_**Glasgow, May, 1990**_

"_I've decided. I've decided, and Mum's agreed. Nana, that is. Your nana. I'm keeping you. You're mine forever. My baby girl."_

_The tiny form she's clutching tightly to her chest, huddled under her t shirt, kangaroo care, skin-to-skin, new trial on the NICU ward at the Glasgow Children's Hospital, wriggles just a little, snuffles, as though in agreement. _

"_Is that okay? It's just going to be us. Just you and me, but that's okay, isn't it? We don't need anyone else, do we? No, we don't," she coos, something maternal stirring within her this time, ancient, instinctive, that simply didn't before. "All I need is you, because you're perfect, aren't you? You're my perfect little girl, I couldn't possibly need anything else. And I'm going to be good at this, this time. For you. I don't know how to be a good mother, I'm pretty shit at it, to be honest. Everyone I know will tell you that. But I'm going to learn. For you. Because I love you so, so much, and I'm never, ever going to let you down, okay? I promise. I'm going to keep you safe. I'm going to give you the best life I possibly can, and I will always, always keep you safe."_

_Her baby snuffles again, tilts her head, curls herself up towards her breast and perhaps she can smell milk, perhaps she's finally improving, finally over the chaos and the panic and the confusion that was her entry into the world and working out what she was supposed to do all along all by herself. _

"_Oh, okay, are you hungry? We'll get one of the nurses to show us what to do with the syringe again in a minute, okay? Well, you know what to do, don't you, it's me who's useless. But I'm going to get the hang of it this time. Promise. I'm not going to get it everywhere but in your mouth again next time, or they won't let me take you home until you're feeding properly, and that would be terrible, wouldn't it? Wouldn't it, Chloe?"_

_Tiny fists nestle into her chest with no force at all, feather-light, adorable and heart-breaking all at once._

_She's far, far too tiny._

"_Chloe? Your name's Chloe. Okay? I think Chloe's a good name, isn't it? It means blooming in Greek, but then the word Chloe in Greek is another name for the goddess Demeter, and green shoots in spring. Rebirth. I chose it… well, I chose it weeks ago, really, I looked it up in the library and when I saw that, I just knew. I just couldn't let myself believe you could ever be mine, then. But that's what you are, Chloe. You're green shoots in spring. You're not the end. You're not damage and violence and trauma, you're new life. You're hope. You're blossom. You're perfect."_

_Her baby blinks hazily, wide eyes the colour of the sea foam on Skye in winter come into view for the briefest of moments, and then they're closed again, and she's limp, rag-doll-like, weak, but she's alive. _

_She's alive, and she's hers. _

"_Do you like that, then? Chloe? Chloe Ciorstaidh Alice Godard." She's trying it out loud for the first time, hardly dared allow herself to believe this might be possible before. "Nana wanted to call your Ciorstaidh, and we're going to owe Nana, big time, so it's only fair, isn't it? And definitely not Alice because Mummy has a crush on the bass guitarist from Alice In Chains. Definitely, absolutely not. You're beautiful," she whispers, lifts, bends to rest her chin gently against the crown of Chloe's tiny head. "You're so beautiful, aren't you? You can…" Ange swallows hard, holds her baby a little tighter. "You know, when I started talking about keeping you, the first thing everyone said was what if you look… what if you look like… not like me. But I don't see how that could ever possibly matter, because you're beautiful. And you're mine. That's all that matters, you're mine. You're no one else's. I don't care what you look like. You'll look like you, nobody else, and whatever you is, whoever you're going to be, that's fine with me. Because you're perfect, and I'm going to keep telling you that. You're perfect just as you are, and you always will be, Chloe. And I'm going to keep you safe. Okay?"_

_She lifts Chloe carefully, leans back, drapes her gently against her shoulder. _

"_I'm going to keep you safe," Ange promises. "I will always, always keep you safe. You're never going to know how… how evil the world can be. How evil men can be, because I'm going to protect you. You're not going to know pain like I have. Ever. I won't let it happen. You're not going to lose your innocence like I did. Green shoots in spring. Okay? You're my fresh start. You're my everything now. I'm going to sort myself out, I promise. And it's all going to be for you."_

Fletch drops her off at the SARC entrance.

He's going to park, he tells her, find somewhere to park that isn't going to cost him enough to warrant a taking out a second mortgage, and then he's going to find the coffee machine and text her to let him know where he is, and he'll be there, whenever she needs him.

Even if she needs him to stay away until she wants a lift home, he promises.

That's okay too.

He'll text Evie, get her to pick Theo up from school and order in takeaway pizza with the emergency money in the envelope in the under-the-stairs cupboard, hold the fort until he gets back or Granddad arrives, whichever comes first, because this is a crisis.

Crisis.

It's a crisis.

It's the end of everything as it was before, end of the world, obliteration of her little girl's life as she always knew it, the protective walls she fought so hard to build around her to keep her safe come tumbling down and there's nothing she can do that will ever put them back up again.

It's an _èiginn._

She's twelve years younger, twelve years less old and wrinkly, testing Chloe on her Scots Gaelic for her Advanced Higher again.

She never passed her own Gaelic Higher, even when she went back to school and retook S5 after she had Chloe, but that was the year Chloe's anxiety spiralled out of control again, and she spent so many hours testing her on the vocab, listening to her gush about the literature (and she did gush, because Chloe always loved literature, could have done that instead of medicine, could have done anything she wanted because she was always her little egghead, brilliant, intelligent, world at her feet… shit… shit…) being talked at in Gaelic as Chloe ran through the oral questions when Nana wasn't available as helper of choice that some of it was bound to rub off on her in the end.

Chloe.

Chloe.

Ange knows Chloe was alright when she and Fletch left the hospital, Evan stable, recovering, thank fucking god, because she called ahead to check.

Chloe's phone has been seized by the police, and she needed the SARC team to tell her baby girl that she was on her way, that she would be there in ten minutes, that she loves her and that will never, ever change and everything is going to be okay.

In fact, she's been calling the SARC team on and off to check on Chloe so near-constantly in the time she's been up on Darwin battling to keep Evan alive, determined that no matter what else happens, she will not let her little girl go down for self-defence, that she's surprised they haven't grown frustrated with her before and blocked her number as a nuisance caller.

(It's okay, Sheena assures her- Sine- gentle, Scottish name, God is Gracious. Chloe's okay.)

Chloe wouldn't survive prison.

She would have been okay, Ange realises, sinking, sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, because this is all the wrong way around.

If it had to be like this, the cycle repeating, mother and daughter locked in a mirroring of pain and anguish, then why couldn't it have been the other way around? Why couldn't Chloe have the gang politics gone wrong down the disused railway bridge that followed her to a quiet Glasgow alley where no one heard her scream, horrific, brutal, but then at least it was over, walk away, why couldn't she have been dealt the manipulative, psychopathic monster and the looming possibility of a prison sentence for attempted murder?

Because Ange could have survived prison, if she'd had to. She was tough, when it happened to her, she was more than capable of defending herself- and that's the horrible irony of course, because she didn't fight.

She froze.

Stupid, stupid, she used to think.

But then she realised that if she hadn't frozen, she wouldn't have Chloe, her perfect little ray of sunshine and hope, green shoots in spring.

Chloe.

Chloe fought, and it wasn't enough, because Chloe has none of her strength, none of her muscle, none of her power.

She starved Chloe of that with the copious cigarettes and the spliffs and the vodka and the cheap, supermarket cider that she turned to after it happened because it was the only way she knew how to cope.

God, this is her fault.

All of it, all of it's her fault.

She pumped Chloe's tiny system with that poison until even she, drowning in denial and hurt and shame could deny it no longer, until her belly finally began to swell so late that she didn't make the connection at first, convinced it belonged to one of the guys at the disused railway station in the crumbling wasteland of Pollokshields, four months along, or so, maybe five, but enough time still left to sort herself out, go home for good, grovel and plead for her mum to take her back, struggle her way through her Highers so at least she'd have some qualifications above her Nationals by the time the baby arrived.

Options.

That's what she'd told herself.

And then the pains had come like they had with Dominic, and she'd known what it meant, or so she thought, told herself that it was for the best and she was in no fit state to be a mother, not like this, doomed to make all the same mistakes again and surrender another baby to be adopted, break her heart a little more.

She was going to bury her.

She was going to bury her- because she knew it was a girl, knew from the very moment she realised she was pregnant all-too-late- because she was going to be dead before she was even born, hadn't felt her move for over a week and already resigned herself to that, even before she'd gone into labour less than halfway through her pregnancy.

That's what she'd believed then.

Less than halfway, still within the legal limits for an abortion, but she hadn't booked herself into a clinic.

She hadn't been for a scan either, admittedly, too afraid they'd take one look at the state she was in, smell the booze and the tobacco and the stench of weed and read her history, find out about Dominic and her baby would be under the care of Social Services before she was even born.

But she hadn't booked herself in for an abortion. She knew she couldn't do that.

She knew she wanted her, and now it was too late.

She was going to bury her at the edge of her father's grave at St Oda's Church in the dark of night as soon as she came, gone by morning, and no one would ever need to know.

She wanted to take her to Skye, bathe her in the North Atlantic Ocean, tell herself a fairy tale of gifting her to the selkies, letting her go to a life better than anything she could possibly offer her, don her seal skin and let her be free.

It was stupid, yes, but she was still a child herself, then.

She needed to believe something.

She needed a coping mechanism that wasn't the chain smoking and the binge drinking and the drugs, because she knew in her heart what had caused the miscarriage and it made her want to vomit.

Miscarriage.

That's what she'd thought.

Too early on to be stillborn.

And then she'd been holding Chloe in the graveyard at St Oda's, blue and bloody, lifeless, far too tiny but too perfectly formed, too human, to be anything but thirty-six weeks, not the sixteen to twenty she'd been so convinced she was.

She'd been holding Chloe, giving her the mouth to mouth she'd learned on her First Aid training course in S2 and begging her to breathe.

She'd tied the cord with the spare hairband around her wrist, nothing to cut it away with, wrapped Chloe up in her Guns and Roses t shirt and her dad's Scottish rugby jersey she'd taken to wearing after he died and run through the backstreets in just her bra, screamed for help until her lungs were drained and her throat was hoarse.

She hadn't even noticed the blood seeping through her jeans.

The neonatologist at the hospital had looked Ange up and down as though she were the absolute scum of the earth and told her that Chloe was as tiny as she was because she'd poisoned her with so much crap, the seven months of eight she hadn't known she was pregnant.

Maybe if she'd looked after herself properly, while she was pregnant with Chloe, she would have been taller, stronger, less fragile, Ange curses.

Maybe she would have been able to fight him off.

It's her fault.

It's all her fault.

She's let her down. She's let her down, and how can she ever expect Chloe to forgive her?

_**Aberdeen, August, 1997**_

_She only turns her back for a matter of seconds, nothing more, standing on tiptoes to reach the tins of tomatoes on the top shelf in Sainsbury's._

_But when she turns back again, her little shadow is gone. _

"_Chloe?" Ange calls out. "Chloe?"_

_But no answer comes, and she can't see her anywhere in the canned produce aisle. _

_Was it only a matter of seconds? Or was it longer? Did she still have Chloe with her when she left the bread aisle and came down here, when she found the milk? She definitely had Chloe with her in the fruit and veg aisle, had her doing the weighing, but after that… did she just go into autopilot, rushed around the supermarket the way she would have just a couple of months ago when she was still at medical school in St Andrews, when Chloe was here in Aberdeen with her mum and she didn't have to think about her in this situation, could just grab everything she needed and be in and out in ten minutes. _

_Did she go into autopilot mode right after the fruit and veg aisle, did she lose her daughter a good few minutes ago and she's only just realised it…_

"_Chloe!" Ange shouts. "Chloe? Chloe!"_

_She's running, no real strategy, panic set in and she just has to find her, somehow, she has to be safe, she has to be, she has to be alright…_

_She's running blind, and then she sees her, golden blonde bob pulled back into a now-falling-out ponytail, ballet tights and purple leotard and her favourite floral skirt over the top and her yellow jumper tied around her waist, colours clashing furiously but that's what happens when it's left to a seven-year-old to pick her own outfit to wear home from dance._

_She feels relief, keeps running towards her._

_Then she takes in the man towering over Chloe, aggressive, hands on her shoulders. _

"_Oi! Get your hands off my daughter!" Ange snarls, protectiveness surging through her veins like nothing she's ever known before, mother tiger defending her cub. "Don't you touch her! I swear to god, if you've so much as bruised her I'll fucking…"_

_She trails off, slowly, as the shock wears off and it starts to sink in. _

_The man in the process of snatching her daughter isn't a man at all, and he's certainly not snatching her. _

_He's just a scared, scrawny teenager in a Sainsbury's uniform, just trying to get a lost little girl in the pet food aisle back to her mummy. _

_All the nice, middle class, Aberdeen old-enough-to-be-mothers with nice sensible two decades plus age gaps between them and their children are staring._

"Ange Godard? Chloe's alright," Sheena the SOLO explains gently, leads Ange through the building. "She's alright. We've completed the rape kit, she coped incredibly well with that, actually. But she's struggling now. I've suggested she might feel better once she's cleaned up, I've told her we have showers she can use. But she's shut down, I'm struggling to get anything much out of her at all. She's hardly spoken since we brought her out of the examination room."

"And she hasn't…" Ange can hardly force the words out. "She hasn't had…"

It was the purpose of one of her multiple calls through to the SARC, obsessing, fussing, but she just couldn't stop.

She had to warn them.

She had to warn them because she knew the SOLO the police sent and the rest of the SARC team would take care of Chloe, of course she did.

She knows because she's been there.

She knows how this goes.

But Chloe isn't as strong as she was, and she had to warn them about the panic attacks, visions of Chloe locked away in a SARC toilet cubicle, all alone, slipped out and struggling to breathe.

"She's had a panic attack, yes," Sheena confirms, that gentle, soothing yet reassuringly authoritative tone Ange remembers from what suddenly feels like yesterday, not thirty years ago at all. "But she's alright. She's calmed down now, she's okay. She's exhibiting some behaviours that have us a little worried…"

"What kind of…"

"She's scratching herself. Quite badly. We're going to monitor her, she doesn't seem to realise she's doing it, it seems to be an anxiety response."

"She's…" Ange whispers. "She's got a history of anxiety… self-harm… the panic attacks have been particularly bad, recently…"

"Okay. We're monitoring her closely. She's refusing to speak to one of our crisis workers at the moment, but she's still in shock, that's not uncommon. She's going to need to give a statement- we'll need a statement from her, if she wants to pursue this, and I'll be recommending she does given the circumstances. But that's optional. No one here is going to make Chloe do anything she doesn't want to do, but the investigating officers are going to want a statement from her regarding the stabbing. I'll hold them off for as long as I can. In the meantime, if Chloe's mental state seems to deteriorate, we'll think about making a call to Psych…"

"And that won't harm her case?" Ange blurts out frantically. "That won't… he won't be able to turn around and say she's mentally unstable and…"

"Let us handle this," Sheena tells her gently. "Okay? I'll take you through to see your sister now."

"Daughter. She's… she's my daughter," Ange whispers.

Chloe.

Her little Chloe.

Her baby doesn't deserve any of this.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sheena apologises. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. Reception did say Chloe's mum was on her way, but I saw you… I thought you looked too young, I just assumed…"

"No, no, it's okay. It's not the first time, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I… It was always my worst nightmare," Ange confesses faintly. "This… it was always my worst nightmare for her…"

"That's understandable. For every parent, it's…"

Ange shakes her head. "No, you don't understand. It… it happened to me, too," she admits shakily. "It happened to me when I was sixteen."

She can tell by the look in Sheena's eyes immediately that she's put the pieces together.

"I'm worried," Ange whispers. They've come to a halt now, clearly outside her daughter's room, and she almost can't bring herself to push the door open, cross the threshold. "I'm worried that she's… she's always struggled, with how she was conceived, I've always tried to be honest with her. But she… the anxiety, the panic attacks, the self-harming. It all started around the time I told her. She's always struggled enough with it all as it is, I'm scared that now she's… now she knows what I went through, now she gets it, she'll hate herself even more and she'll… I don't know, that she'll…"

She trails off.

Silence.

"Okay," Sheena says at last, places a gentle hand on Ange's arm. "Okay. I'm going to alert the crisis counsellors. Alright? We'll have someone on standby. You'll… you'll know, then, we can't make Chloe speak to a counsellor if she doesn't want to. But we'll keep trying. And we can arrange for you to speak to someone too, if you think it would help," she offers gently. "We can go and…"

Firmly, she shakes her head. "Not now. I can't think about any of that right now, I… I need to see her. I just need to see her, I just need to hold her and…"

"That's fine," Sheena tells her. "That's fine. But if you change your mind, at any time, you only have to tell me. I'll arrange it. Chloe's just through here."

_**Aberdeen, April 2007**_

"_Okay, listen. Listen to me, sweetheart, because this is what we're going to do, alright? This is what we're going to do. We're going to go downstairs, get you a glass of water and something to eat, you can't do an exam on two mouthfuls of pasta and an apple, can you? Hey? And then I'll test you on your vocab, and then we'll watch some rubbish telly for half an hour, and then you're going to get an early night and I promise, you will feel so much better about everything. Okay. And you're going to nail your exam and you're going to be brilliant, I know you will be, because you're my little egghead. But if you don't, absolutely nothing bad will happen, alright? Chloe?"_

_They're sat together on Chloe's bed, side by side, Chloe leaning into her arms, clinging to her desperately, breathing still a little shuddery as it always is when she's not long come out of a panic attack. _

"_The world will go on turning," Ange soothes, runs her fingers gently through Chloe's hair. "It's just an exam, sweetheart. I know it's stressful, I know you want to do well, and I'm so, so proud of how hard you've worked. That's the important bit. I know, and you know, and your teachers know how hard you've worked, and that's really all that matters. All you can do is your best tomorrow, okay? I don't care what the grade is. It's just an exam. It's not worth getting so upset about, is it? All I want is for you to be healthy and happy, that's so much more important than exams. Exams can be retaken. Alright? And they aren't the be all and end all, anyway. And you're not even supposed to be doing Advanced Higher Gaelic this year, are you? So, you can blame me. That's what mums are for, isn't it? It's all my fault you're feeling so panicky, I should never have let Mrs Fitzgerald move you up to Higher Gaelic last year, I should have insisted she leave you be to do your National exam first, shouldn't I? It's my fault. Not yours. But what I'm trying to say is that this is extra, okay? This is an extra exam you're doing a year early because you're a total superstar, there is absolutely no pressure on you for this. None. I will love you just as much if you get a D as I will if you get an A, alright? It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Highers and Advanced Highers are just a sheet of paper with a letter written on them, aren't they? They're nowhere near as important as you are. We can defer your exams, you can retake them, but I've only got one Chloe. I can't replace you. Your mental state is always going to be more important than any exam." She squeezes Chloe's shoulder lightly, comfortingly. "Come on. Shall we go and have a look at your vocab, then?"_

"_There are two questions on the Chemistry past paper I was doing earlier I don't understand," Chloe whispers faintly, as though this to her equates to the world coming to an end. "I've been through all my notes and the textbook and I still don't understand…"_

"_Then you're lucky you've got your own personal tutor then, aren't you? I'll come and get you from school after your exam tomorrow and we'll go through them together, okay? And anything else you're worried about. Well, as long as it's science related. But I'll test you on the history, if that would help. You just really, really don't want my help planning your practice essay things, or whatever all those mind maps you've stuck all over my kitchen are for. It's just for another few weeks, sweetheart," Ange reassures her, hands around her waist, pushes her daughter gently to her feet, sure her ribs feel more prominent again and her heart begins to sink. "Just another couple of weeks and then this will all be over. Everything's going to be fine."_

"Chloe?" she tries carefully. "Chloe, sweetheart, it's just me, it's Mum. Can you look at me?"

Chloe doesn't move.

She's sat at one end of the sofa in the SARC side room, huddled, knees pulled up to her chest, face buried in her knees and hidden beneath a mess of tangled hair, bleach growing out, strawberry blonde roots and mud and dried blood and tears.

She's still wearing the clinical blue gown they would have changed her into for the forensic examination.

"Chloe, can I sit down?" She holds her hands up in surrender, calm, patient, supresses the urge to scream and rage deep inside her because it's the last thing her daughter needs right now.

Chloe.

Chloe comes first.

Chloe always comes first.

"I'm going to sit next to you, Chloe, okay? I'm going to come and sit next to you, unless you don't want me to. Can you tell me if you don't want me to, Chloe?"

Nothing.

"Okay. Okay, I'm going to come and sit next to you then, sweetheart. It's alright. Everything's going to be alright, Chloe, I promise."

Slowly, carefully, she lowers herself down onto the sofa, remembers the unbearable aches in places she'd never realised could ache in the hours after when it happened to her, careful not to jolt the cushions.

Out of nowhere, Chloe springs, launches herself, and for a moment, Ange panics that she's frightened her, that she's lost, retreated into a world of her own where no one can reach her and they might never claw her back.

Then she realises that Chloe is throwing herself at her, opens her arms to catch her.

All of a sudden, Chloe is sobbing loudly, pure agony, breathing getting faster and faster, hyperventilating, cuddles into her chest as though she's a small child again, desperately seeking reassurance.

"I'm sorry!" She sobs, words coming out in painful, harsh gasps as she fights to breathe. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Ange wishes it's the last thing she was expecting, but truth be told, it isn't.

She saw this coming a mile off.

She's been dreading it ever since the broken, defeated look in her daughter's eyes confirmed it.

"No," she says firmly.

She doesn't need to ask what this is about.

She knows.

Both of them know.

"No, Chloe. Chloe, listen to me. You've got nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. Come on sweetheart, breathe with me." She shifts her daughter in her arms until her head is against her chest, until she knows Chloe can feel her mother's heartbeat, hear it, knows it as it vibrates through her, wills her to breathe with her, slow down to match it. "In, two, three, and hold, two three… And out, two three. In, two, three, and hold, two, three…"

'_Dip a toe in the ocean, _

_Oh, how it hardens and it numbs._

_The rest of me is a version of man_

_Built to collapse and crumb. _

_And if I hadn't come here to the coast to disappear,_

_I might have died in a landslide of rocks and hopes and fears.'_

_-Karine Polwart, Swim Until You Can't See Land (Karine Polwart's Scottish Songbook)_

_**North Atlantic Ocean, Scottish waters, December, 1989**_

_It's Christmas on Skye. _

_It's the early hours of Christmas Eve and it's freezing, dawn, strong winds and high seas but they're island girls, float over the waves in her grandfather's old fishing boat, engine off, anchor in, children of the waters. _

_She remembers how she used to love this as a child, how she would imagine she was Flora MacDonald, hair flowing in the wind at the stern of the Skye boat, smuggling Bonnie Prince Charlie across the sea, Scotland's hope, defiant, strong._

_She always did like the old stories in which the woman was the hero._

_Salty water laps at the stern, and it's quiet, peaceful, solitude. _

_They're alone. _

"_I'm not doing it to piss you off, you know."_

_Her mother sighs. "I know, Angel. I know that. Do you think the last few months have been easy for me? I know you're hurting. I know there's something wrong, I just wish you'd open up and talk to me."_

_Something ripples in the water, Harbour seals, dive, surface, dive again, playful. _

_When did it all go so horribly wrong?_

_I was raped, she wants to tell her. I was raped, and I'm skipping school and drinking and smoking and playing stupid, dangerous games with men twice my age selling drugs in the back alleys because I don't know how to deal with it. _

"_I just miss him," Ange says simply. _

_Peigi sighs. _

"_Darren?" She asks gently. "Or Dad?"_

"_Dad," she whispers. "Darren's gone. I know he's gone. Darren's better off without me. But I'm still waiting for Dad to come home."_

_It's two years, next month. _

_Two years since the police came, and the world turned upside down, and that cold, snowy January, Ange told herself she was strong. _

_She told herself that if she could survive losing her father, nothing the world could possibly throw at her would ever faze her again. _

_She was wrong._

_Peigi Godard just pulls her into her arms tightly, sways with her to the rhythm of their small boat drifting off the coast. _

_I was raped, she wants to tell her, but no words come out._

"_I know," her mum says simply. "I know,_ _mo ghràdh. I know."_

_Something flutters within her belly, light, innocent, delicate as a butterfly._

_It's just indigestion. _

_It has to be. _

"You don't understand!" Chloe sobs, once Ange's attempts to slow her breathing have taken effect just enough for her to find her voice again. "You don't understand, you don't under… stand! I'm… so-ry, I'm… so…"

"Hey, no, no, no, no, no, sweetheart. None of this is your fault, Chloe. None of it," Ange tells her firmly, grips her tighter. "You had to defend yourself. Didn't you? I am so, so glad you did. I could have lost you. I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you…"

She knows.

She knows that isn't what her daughter is apologising for, but she doesn't want to accept it.

Not until Chloe shakes her head weakly.

"I'm sorry, Mum," she whispers. "I'm… sorry… I… I… I did… this… to you… I d-don't… know… how you… can…"

"No. No, Chloe."

She takes even herself by surprise with the firmness in her voice and Chloe shudders for a moment, tenses in her arms, and instantly, she feels guilty.

Even though she's far too big now, she lifts her daughter, struggles a little but she manages it, shuffles Chloe until she's on her lap, holds her like a child, rocks her.

She's far, far too thin.

"Listen to me," Ange tells her. "Breathe for me, Chloe. Come on, sweetheart, breathe for me and listen, can you do that? You didn't do this to me, Chloe. You didn't. It wasn't you, it was him. You didn't do this to me, and I… this was always my worst fear," she whispers. "I never, ever wanted you to know how this feels. Not just because I didn't want you to have to go through it, because I never wanted you to feel responsible for what happened to me. You aren't him, Chloe. You're nothing to do with him. You're my lovely daughter, you're not him, and you must never, ever hold yourself accountable, do you promise me? Never. You didn't do this, Chloe. You didn't bring it on yourself, and you most certainly didn't bring it on me."

Chloe breathes shakily, trembles on her lap.

"I know, Ange whispers. I know. It gets better, sweetheart. I know it doesn't feel like it ever could right now, but it does get better. I promise it gets better. Green shoots in spring, Chloe." She strokes her hair, her face, hugs her tightly. "Green shoots in spring."

The door bursts open with such force, such commotion, that Chloe startles, lets out a small, frightened cry.

There are voices.

Sheena stands arguing with two uniformed policemen, Fletch behind them and they're all shouting, anger, frustration, fire, and Ange can't make out a word they're saying.

Chloe.

Chloe is her priority, Chloe trembling in her arms, Chloe… he… he _raped _her, her little girl, Chloe…

And then the uniformed policemen are towering over them both, menacing, and Chloe's hyperventilating again, Ange squeezing her shoulders trying to get her to breathe with her but it's never going to be enough.

_**Aberdeen, April, 2004**_

"_Mum? Mum?"_

_She stirs, pulled suddenly from sleep, confused, struggles to focus her vision in the darkness of her room, pushes herself wearily into a seating position, leans back against the headboard._

"_Chloe?" she calls out into the darkness, because she can hear it in her daughter's voice, hears the tremor. "Come here, sweetheart." _

_She holds out her arms, shuffles over, makes room, holds her breath for a moment until something warm, solid, slips in beside her, wraps her arms around her neck and she lowers them down together, tangle of limbs. _

"_Do you want to talk?" Ange whispers. "Do you want to talk, sweetheart, or do you just want to go back to sleep?"_

"_I…" Chloe trails off, wet tears brush up against Ange's neck as she clings. "I feel like I… I want to cut."_

_Her daughter spits out the word like it's dirty, like she's ashamed._

_She holds her tighter, cuddles her, tells herself that if she grips onto her like this all night then Chloe won't have the chance, can't be a danger to herself, safely contained in her mother's arms, restrained._

_Loved._

"_I'm here," she tells her, kisses the top of her head. "I'm here, Chloe. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."_

"Miss Godard, you need to come with us," the taller of the policemen says firmly, and could they have possibly picked two taller, heavier-built, more intimidating-looking police officers, Ange contemplates furiously. "We need to question you regarding the incident you were involved in earlier today with a Mr Evan…"

"You're taking her nowhere!" Ange retorts furiously, clutches Chloe tighter to her chest. "She's in no fit state to give a statement! She's traumatised, she's just had one of the worst panic attacks I've seen her have for years, she hasn't even had the chance to clean herself up yet, for god's sake, how dare you…"

"We need a statement," the police officer repeats firmly. "Allegations have been made against Miss Godard regarding…"

Chloe gasps for air against her chest…

"And as I've already explained to you, here, our priority is Chloe," Sheena snaps. "This is SARC, for God's sake. Miss Godard has made allegations against Mr Crowhurst, too, did you storm into ITU to demand an interview from him?"

"Mr Crowhurst is recovering from significant heart…"

"And _Chloe_ is recovering from a brutal assault," Sheena hisses. "She's been _raped_. Do you even understand what a SARC is? She's in no fit state to be questioned right now, I will not put her in a room with you in an examination gown. She needs time to calm down. You need to give us a chance to get her comfortable, get her calm, get her properly dressed, at least grant her that dignity. This is _SARC_. Do you have no conscience? I will let you interview her when she's cleaned up and she's comfortable. Do you understand? Not before."

Except Sheena can only hold them off for so long, Ange realises, heart twisting in panic.

In normal circumstances, they'd be able to hold off giving any kind of statement until Chloe is ready.

But these aren't normal circumstances.

These aren't normal circumstances, because it won't be just about taking it at Chloe's pace, not beyond the SARC team.

It's also going to be about Evan, and he's going to be manipulating everything.

He'll have told them that Chloe attacked him, that she's the violent one, deranged, he'll have told them whatever it takes to pin this on Chloe.

The police won't let them take this at Chloe's pace.

They'll have to back down at least a little, have to hold off long enough for Chloe to be taken to shower and change, at least, can't expect her to sit through a police interview in nothing but a plastic gown, not even any underwear.

But then they'll be back and it will be relentless.

She can't let them do it.

Not to her baby girl, breathing slowed again, but so horribly still in her arms.

She can't let them do it, she can't let them do it…

_**Glasgow, September, 1989**_

"_You don't have to do anything until you're ready," Chloe tells her gently, thick Glaswegian accent softens as she reaches out to squeeze Ange's hand. "Okay? We can take this as slowly as you need to, darling."_

"_What happens now?" Her voice is nothing but a whisper. _

_She can't do this. She can't do this…_

_She'd been unprepared for the rape kit. _

_She had thought they would tell her there was no point, not now, but when it's been two days. _

_She was wrong. _

_It was still worth doing the forensic exam, at the very least, Chloe had explained to her, brought her cups of tea, a sandwich she couldn't eat, pressed tissue after tissue into her hands. Just in case, because she'd have the option, then, if she decided she wanted to take it further, press charges._

_When she'd confessed that she hadn't been home in the two days since it happened, hadn't washed, hadn't showered, she had been gently coaxed into the examination room._

_She's curled up on the sofa in the side room now, knees pulled up to her chest, hair damp, cheeks pink, dressed in the sweatshirt and the tracksuit bottoms given to her by the SARC team, glass of water in her hands. _

_She swallowed down the morning after pill they brought her with the glass of water, carefully explaining that it might not be effective at this stage, as though her life depended upon it. _

_She didn't even hesitate._

_Apart from anything, she can't cope with all the heartbreak she went through with Darren again._

"_You have the option of making a statement," Chloe explains softly. "You don't have to if you don't want to. It's your choice, Ange. No one is going to make you do anything you don't want to do, or before you're ready. We'll take this all at your pace, okay? There's no rush. You don't have to make a decision right now…"_

"_No," Ange says quietly, firmly as she can muster. "No, I… I want to make a statement," she whispers. "I want to make a statement, and I… I don't think I trust myself to go through with it if I don't do it now."_

"_Okay. Okay, darling, we can do that. I'm going to go and make a call now, alright? I'm going to go and find one of the SOLOs, they'll be along to take a statement from you in a bit."_

"_Can you stay?"_

_She doesn't mean to sound quite as broken as she does. _

_She promised herself she was going to be strong. _

"_Of course I can, if that's what you want. And you're sure you don't want me to call someone for you? Your mum? Or…"_

"_I don't want anyone to know," Ange tells her firmly, voice trembling. _

_She can't do it. _

_She can't. _

_She brought this on herself._

_She should have fought. _

"_Okay," Chloe the crisis support worker squeezes Ange's shoulder gently, steps away, moves towards the door. "I'll be right back, darling. I'm just going to go and arrange for a SOLO to come down and take a statement, and then I'll be back. How do you want to give your statement?" She asks. "Ange? English or Gaelic?"_

"Take her straight down to get changed, then!" The police officer snaps at Sheena. "Like I told you, we need a statement. She's a suspect in an incident that took place today, Mr Crowhurst is in a critical condition, it's absolutely imperative we take a statement from Miss Godard now in order to get her version of…"

"And I am telling you, Miss Godard is in no fit state to be questioned!" Sheena shouts furiously. "We have significant concerns regarding her mental state- as a result of what she endured at the hands of Mr Crowhurst. You're not taking her anywhere until I'm satisfied she's…"

Chloe's shaking again.

It's almost uncontrollable now.

She's shaking so badly Ange can hardly keep her on her lap, face pained, twisting like it does when she's on the verge of a panic attack again, white, fragile, overwhelmed, hands twist in Ange's hair like she did when she was about three.

"Mum," Chloe sobs faintly, voice barely audiable. "Mum, make it stop, please make it stop…"

She has to do something.

She can't see her baby like this, not a moment longer.

She's suddenly acutely aware that everyone is staring, police officers crossing the room towards them again.

She has to protect her.

She can't let them take her in for questioning, not like this.

She can't.

God only knows what Chloe will tell them, too traumatised to make any real sense of it all.

"Tha gràdh cho mòr agam ort," Ange tells her, casts her mind back to her grandparents' house on Skye and her mother's array of literature and folk stories and Chloe's revision and her homework assignments, because there's no privacy in here now, and Chloe is trembling with fear and anxiety, and they need this moment, just the two of them. No intruders. "Tha e ceart gu leòg. Suidhuchidh… Chloe, look at me, help me out, here," she murmurs, silently enough she hopes that no one will hear the switch because a plan is forming in her head, fight or flight, protective tiger mother and she'll do anything to protect her baby. "Suidhuchidh mamaidh…"

"… a huile càil?" whispers Chloe back softly, defeated. "Ciamar?"

"Chì thu. Chì thu, Chloe. Chì thu. Tha mi a 'gealltainn."

Chloe stares at her as though she thinks she's finally gone insane.

"Gàidhlig," Ange tells her, eyes pleading with Chloe to understand. "Gàidhlig a mhàin. Gàidhlig a mhàin, Chloe, tha thu a 'tuigsinn?"

"A bheil thu a 'feuchainn ri stad a chuir orra?" Chloe asks curiously, some of the panic gone, at least, and Ange breathes a sigh of relief.

She always was her little egghead.

"Chan eil mi a 'tuigsinn na thuirt thu," Ange admits, but she doesn't care, not when, in a strange sort of way, her desperate attempt at damage control seems to have calmed Chloe down a little. "Ach chan eil e gu diofar."

Maybe it's deep within her, comforting, safe, in a way she's never known before, might not be able to articulate- certainly not now, not like this.

She's always wondered how much of this her own mother exposed Chloe to, those years when she was away at medical school, Chloe at home with her grandmother, deep into her Gaelic studies midlife crisis.

(Aka being unexpectedly made a grandmother for the second time at thirty-nine crisis.)

"Dè a tha thu a 'dèanamh?"

"Chì thu," Ange promises. "Tha gaol agam ort. Chì thu. Uaine… uaine as t-earrach, Chloe." She brushes her fingers across Chloe's cheeks gently, wipes away her tears. "Uaine as t-earrach."

"Brògan," Chloe corrects her quietly, snuggles into Ange's side, almost as though she's afraid this could be the last time for a while now. "Brògan uaine as t-earrach."

_**Aberdeen, April, 2007**_

"_Are you ready?" Ange asks, shuffles through the deck of flashcards she's just been handed in Chloe's neat handwriting, settles down onto the sofa opposite Chloe, curled up anxiously in the chair by the window, hands wrapped around her mug of chamomile tea as though she's trying to keep herself warm, more than anything else. "Drink your tea, sweetheart. Ten minutes, then, okay? And then we're sticking River City on."_

"_We won't get through all of these in ten minutes, Mum…"_

"_But you've already studied for hours for this exam," Ange reminds her gently. "Haven't you, sweetheart? You don't need a last-minute cramming session, you just need to remind yourself you know what you're doing. Okay. Taobh beinne."_

_Chloe giggles. "Mountainside. Your pronunciation is terrible."_

"_Hey, come on, you know I failed my Gaelic Higher. Too many letters jammed together making no actual sense. Siubhail."_

"_Traveller."_

"_Beachdachadh."_

"_Consider."_

"_Nàmhaid."_

"_Enemy."_

"_Àrainneachd."_

"_Environment."_

_Ange pauses, concentrates. "Tha gaol agam ort."_

"_That isn't on the flashcards, Mum."_

"_No, I know. Call it a bonus question. Tha gaol agam ort."_

_Chloe smiles. "Love you too, Mum."_

_**Tha gràdh cho mòr agam ort- I love you so much. **_

_**Tha e ceart gu leòg- It's alright. **_

_**Suidhuchidh- everything. **_

_**Mamaidh- Mum**_

_**Ciamar? – how? **_

_**Chí thu- you'll see.**_

_**Tha mi a 'gealltainn- I promise.**_

_**Gàidhlig a mhàin- only Gaelic.**_

**A bheil thu a 'feuchainn ri stad a chuir orra?- **_**Are you trying to stop them taking me?**_

_**Chan eil mi a 'tuigsinn na thuirt thu- I don't understand what you're saying.**_

_**Ach chan eil e gu diofar- but it doesn't matter.**_

_**Dè a tha thu a 'dèanamh? -What are you doing?**_

_**Brògan uaine as t-earrach- Green shoots in spring.**_


End file.
